Posts from — September 2009

Last week, a handsome local television news reporter was getting ready to interview me (because I’m slighty famous in my place of residence) when he grabbed my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes and said “You’re tiny.”

Of course this was in reference to my height compared to the tripod he set the camera on, but I swear on everything that is holy that I experienced multiple orgasms on the spot. I still get chills when I think about that wonderful moment.

We have Serafina to thank for this one, which I have titled Adventure Broccoli. Enjoy!

Cut up half a head of broccoli into bite-size chunks and wash
Put in microwavable bowl and zap on full power for 2 minutes
Cover with salt, black pepper and hot chili powder and voila!
(Add a side of ketchup if you’re feeling risque or mustard if a little less adventurous)

Note: I have yet to make this because I haven’t been feeling risque or any level of adventurous lately. But when I do, I plan to skip the wash and use a non-microwaveable bowl for a little extra adventure.

With the beginning of any new season, one must accessorize accordingly to make oneself appear as emaciated as possible. My summer accessory: a deep golden tan. My latest must-have: Ovation Cell Hair Therapy. It’s designed for cancer patients and promises to make my hair thick and beautiful. The bigger the hair, the smaller I’ll look. It’s the perfect way to camouflage fat.

I noticed this morning I’ve gained some weight in my ass. The bad news…I have a fat ass. The good news…my fat ass helps my waist look smaller.

It’s official. My day job will kill me. Whether it’s from the exorbitant amount of pressure or from the calories, I will die shortly. After running around with my balls cut off the last few days, my boss offers me a reward — a mini chocolate brownie Cliff Bar that was included in his shipment of outdoor goods from REI. I’m eating it.

I dread going to doctor’s appointments, but only because I know I’m going to be forced onto the scale while fully clothed with someone peering over my shoulder. It’s one of the most horrifying scenarios I can imagine (much less experience), and I always promise myself that I’m going to avert my eyes when the dreadful moment arrives.  

But morbid curiosity usually wins out, as it did yesterday and as suspected, I was greatly disappointed by my numbers. NUMBERS, plural. Though it’s long been my goal to reach a single digit weight, I’m not losing hope. I found out that my blood pressure is on the low side of normal, which kind of excites me. If I can’t get my weight down to zero, the least I can do is get my blood pressure there. Yay! I love setting goals. It gives me something to live for.

If you want to feel really good about yourself, visit a Korean spa, also known as an ethnic bathhouse. Not only are most of the patrons fat, but the masseuses are nothing special to look at either. This Sunday, Enabler Friend and I indulged in a 90 minute body scrub/massage/hair washing experience that felt more like we were pushing our way through our mother’s cervix. I’ve never been more manhandled in my life. I loved every minute of it. You must visit one in your city. But beware, there is no shame allowed in one of these jaunts. That shouldn’t be a problem for you skinny bitches. 

Some repressed idiots decided it’s necessary to preface a show about indigneous peoples on the Travel Channel with a warning about “indigenous nudity.” I had no idea there were different types of nudity. Of course, if there is such a thing as indigneous nudity, I’m totally against it. And for what should be obvious reasons.